


Déjà Vu

by Zyphlid



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyphlid/pseuds/Zyphlid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one off thing between my SS Charlotte, Hancock and a situation she never wanted to witness again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> I am Sin™ and I might be sorry for it.

Charlotte had heard enough bullets whiz by her ear to last a lifetime. 

At the moment, she accumulated enough encounters to satisfy two dozen lifetimes and with the current situation she was in, it was just one more to add to the pile.

She gave out a small yelp when she heard one ricochet next to her just as she ducked down behind the rusted shell of a car. It was a small pile of them, both scrapped and in some manner distinguishable to their previous glory, that separated her and the Raiders that had started to set up camp in their little corner of outer Boston. She felt lucky they had yet to set up their guard posts given any high ground position to their benefit would have the insides of her head drying out on the asphalt. Bringing up her sidearm, she scattered a few rounds so that they would be forced to find cover themselves and give her a moment to breath.

“Smart bastards, I’ll give ‘em that,” Hancock said as he joined her behind the car next to her own. He loaded two shells into his shotgun before snapping the barrels back into place with clear agitation. He then poked up above the hood of the car and fired them, eliciting a few shouts from the enemy before he came back to cover. Charlotte winced as it intensified the ringing she was already hearing from her own gun. She really needed to find some earplugs before she developed some permanent form of tinnitus or, in the worst case scenario, went deaf.

“Why do you say that?” She shouted above the rain of bullets in response to the ghoul’s attack. He was not impressed nor concerned as he reloaded his weapon once more.

“They’re right near a caravan route,” he replied. “Must’ve been watchin’ the traders come through here for a while before they caught on. Guess it’s a good thing we’re here to stop ‘em before they set up an ambush.” The assault paused and both of them took the opportunity to land their own. Charlotte picked the first target she saw, a Raider half hidden by a makeshift wall of aluminum siding, and fired. She was only able to get three shots in, gritting through the sound of each pop, before she had to go down again. Judging by the string of curses and the clattering of a rifle, however, she rightfully assumed she at least hit their arm.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, glancing back over at Hancock with an eyebrow raised. “If we can. I’m feeling pretty outgunned and outnumbered right now.” Another barrage began to repel itself from the metal protecting them and she instinctively ducked lower. The ghoul continued to remain in control as he leaned to the side and began looking over the backseat of the vehicle he was behind, the door on his side missing yet thankfully close on the other one.

“You say that like we haven’t done this before,” he gave her a smirk before he spotted something in the car and went back to his battle face. He put his shotgun on the ground so that he could grab it, possibly untangling it from something given the slight struggle he was putting up.

“We usually had the upperhand when we did, Hancock!” She exclaimed, inhaling sharply when she heard glass shatter behind her. A few pieces struck her back, but none were able to pierce the thick fabric of her coat. “This doesn’t seem to be going in our favor!”

“You givin’ up on me?” The ghoul came out of the vehicle with a strip of blue cloth in hand. They caught each other’s gaze for a moment and Charlotte had asked what that was meant for without saying a word. He held up a finger before reaching back into the car and pulling out the bottle of rum which was likely the first thing to get his interest. Oh. So there was his confidence boost.

“Didn’t I give you my matches last night?” He asked as he unscrewed the lid to the bottle and began stuffing the fabric inside, leaving just enough outside as the fuse.

“Uh,” Charlotte began patting her pockets with her free hand until she felt the familiar shape of the box. She had asked for them to start a small fire when she insisted they try camping outside just once. It was something that was far more dangerous than it was 200 years ago, but still managed to be fun. Well, they made it fun. If she were to minus the Yao Guai at the end. 

Taking them out, she tossed them over to the ghoul who had put his molotov down so he could catch them. The Raiders had not let up on their attack, likely holding them down in plan for something else. She had to check behind her shoulder just make sure there was not one coming at her with a bat as they tended to do. She was not looking to have another concussion so soon after recovering from the last encounter that went that way.

He struck the match against the side of the box before he brought it up to the cloth, letting it catch fire and burn what was outside the bottle. Throwing away the stick, he shoved the remainder in his coat and picked up the lethal cocktail, waiting until the gunfire slowed just enough to let him peek above the car and get a good idea as to where the most of them were hiding. Satisfied with his choosing, he briefly stood up and tossed the makeshift grenade their way.

“Burn, assholes!” He yelled just as Charlotte heard the glass bottle shatter and the flames to erupt over the alcohol that was splashed in the process. The shooting stopped almost immediately and there were screams that, when she looked up over her cover, saw belonged to one Raider whose left half was completely engulfed. Her chest felt tight and she had looked away almost as quickly as she caught sight of them. There were some things she simply was never going to get used to seeing no matter what Hancock or the others told her.

“Back in business,” he said with a wink, reaching down to grab his shotgun. She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face made sure to keep it playful.

“You just hate losing,” she said before he could drown out her words with his weapon’s fire. She took note of the cries being cut off short with his attack and was thankful, despite how morally in the wrong they were, that the person did not have to suffer any longer. If it was not the fire, it would had been the infection that would had set into the burns.

However, just as she was about to join him in thinning out the rest of the pack, she heard something click and blur as it was thrown just in sight of her peripheral. Her heart nearly stopped, her mind already taking a guess as to what it was before her head spun around to see it laying between them.

“Grenade!” She exclaimed, pushing herself up on her feet and running the opposite direction. The sound of Hancock’s curses was the last thing there was before the explosion took her hearing.

 _Explosions_ , actually.

All of which, as each car still carrying what nuclear capacity it had blew up in a violent chain reaction, gave her the momentum to be thrown into the alley she was sprinting towards. She was able to lift her arms up just in time to keep them from being pinned against her and the pavement, but in return her right side took the blunt force of the fall. She gave out a pained yelp with what air remained in her lungs and bit down on her lip as tears stung her eyes in response.

 _Idiots_. Did their IQ go out the door the moment a fight started? Or did they not know that in almost every bit of pre-war tech there was something nuclear powering it and that any sort of explosion, especially one of that size, would be enough to cause a miniature mushroom cloud to bloom? How could they live long enough it a world torn about by fallout and not figure that out?

She tried to take in a deep breath, but only caused a white hot flare to shoot from her upper ribs and into her head. Shit. Did she break something? It felt broken. If so, that was just what she needed. The threat of piercing a lung as she avoided mutants, wildlife, and all the other goodies the Commonwealth provided as she continued to look for Shaun. How long would that be until it healed up? Was there anything they could even do without surgery? Going under a knife in the current day and age was nothing less than a bad idea it sounded like to her.

However, in the midst of thinking about her own injuries and grimacing as the loud ringing in her ears told her she could still use them, a cold dread slipped in and settled on her aching chest.

Hancock.

She had a second head start. A second made all the difference.

“Oh, God,” she murmured to herself, barely able to hear it. “Hancock?” She raised her voice, rolling over on the side that was still intact and pushing herself up (cursing when she used her right shoulder and finding out the hard way that it did not get out of the fight unscathed). Getting no reply once she stood up with an uneven balance caused her heart to clench up.

“Hancock!”

Louder that time as she made her way into the thick cloud of smoke, her feet struggling to keep up with the demands of staying on them. She pulled up her shirt and covered her nose and mouth, squinting her eyes as they searched the ground. Car parts littered the street now and the crackling of the fire as it burned away what little of the Raider fortress had been set up confirmed that whatever group of them was left was long gone now. 

That in turn instilled more fear into her.

“Hancock, damnit, answer me!” She yelled, coughing afterwards as the fumes trickled down her throat. He ran. She knew he did. They were both good at acting the moment a command was given, especially one of that magnitude. He had to of gotten away. Maybe as scraped and bruised and broken as her, but he got away. 

Thinking on what the explosion did, however, made her wonder if he, too, was thrown back. He was closer. Surely he gained some air? Hell, he had probably been through this situation a lot more than she ever had, or will be, so maybe he knew how to survive it? Maybe he knew to jump or roll or something, but was still flung back due to his proximity. But why was he not answering? It could only mean one of two things: it knocked him unconscious...

...or it killed him.

“Hancock, please!” Her voice cracked. No. No, he was a lot stronger than that and she knew it. She heard the stories. She listened to him tell her how Hell and back was something of a yearly vacation to him. To have a Raider take him down would be insulting. He would never go out in such a way. It had to have some flare, some final word, something so that he could prove himself and stand up and keep his ground because God knows he deserved it. After all the running away, he had that fate coming for him and she hoped to be six feet under waiting for him before that happened. It was a promise after all. Him before her if not together.

She was lying to herself if she was not already painfully aware that some promises were made to be broken.

He had been thrown. Not as far as she had thought, but still the considerable amount of distance. Flat on his back, his eyes were closed and one arm was thrown over his stomach while the other rested beside him. There were singe marks on his outfit (something he would be pissed to see) where the explosion had licked him, even a few holes, and his favorite shotgun was nowhere to be found. 

That all went unnoticed, however.

He was completely limp. 

He was not breathing.

“No!” Her voice was raw with the tears already pooling in her eyes. “No, no, no!” She had rushed over to him, banging up her knees as she dropped down beside him. Her hands went to his neck, both pressing against the arteries in hopes that there was a heartbeat there by some off chance that he was still hanging on.

Nothing. Not even a weak one.

“You bastard!” She screamed. “Don’t fucking do this to me!” Her hands went down to his chest and stopped over his heart. She had never done CPR before; never even took a training class. She had seen it done on television and movies and had heard how it was suppose to be done, but that was the full extent of her knowledge. She was suddenly very angry at herself that she never thought she would find herself in a situation where she would need to know.

She put one hand on top of the other, locking her fingers together, before she pressed the heel of the bottom one down. A steady rhythm. There was a certain pace too and her mind went over how fast she had seen it done and attempted to match it. She remembered it was something like one-one thousand, two-one thousand, right? She kept count. She said it outloud, though her voice was weak and cracked as the tears blurred her vision and dripped down off her face and onto his clothes. She would laugh if she was the one who could find humor in anything. Tears healed people in all those child stories meant to fuel young kids with the idea that there was hope in everything. She believed it when she was that age. Hell, she wanted to believe it now.

How long did she have to do CPR until it was useless? Her shoulder ached vaguely, but she knew that if it were not for the adrenaline pumping into her system as wildly as her own heart it would be shouting profanities at her. She would do it regardless. Not even a broken arm would stop her. She could be bleeding, fingers missing, eye popped from its socket, a bone poking from her thigh, and she would still make an attempt to save him. She could recover from physical injury. But emotional? She cannot bear the idea of throwing onto her back another loss. Especially not so soon.

“I’m begging you,” she said, her sobs rattling her chest. “Please come back. Please.” She was growing weak in the pressure she was putting against him due to her crying. Damn her inability to keep it together. _Grown a backbone. Toughen up._ Sniffling, she tried to hold it back to regain the strength. “Hancock, you promised. You promised! Please come back.”

So maybe it was not the tears that did the job, but the pleading.

He took in a breath.

It was sharp, but so very soft.

She had stopped the procedure to make sure she had not seen it in some desperate hallucination for it to work, but, no, there he was breathing shallow, small breaths.

“Hancock?” Her voice was barely above a whisper as her hands hovered, unsure as to what to do now that she had resuscitated him. He did not respond. He was unconscious now and she would gladly take that over dead.

Gulping down the lump in her throat, she broke the lull in her actions to reach for the bag strapped to her waist. It was there she stored her aid materials as well as her chems. She knew she still had a stimpak in there. At least one. She always made sure there was one. It would give him the boost necessary to keep him with her as she had come to notice how quickly he was starting to slip despite the effort it took pulling him up.

“I got you back,” she said, as she unzipped the bag and dug around for the drug. “You’d be a complete idiot if you think I’m going to lose you again.” _There_. She pulled out the stimpak and fumbled as her hands shook with such an intensity that it made it difficult to remove the cap at the end of the needle. Where did she stick it? Not in his heart, right? That was for a drug overdose if she remembered correctly. Just the arm.

He had taught her how to search for a vein. Hell, no one got to know him without figuring it out themselves or him teaching them. She did not have anything immediately on her to use as a tourniquet, though, and she doubted that it mattered. In fact, she just ignored it all together, made sure there were no air pockets, stuck it into where she vaguely remembered him sticking all his needles, and pressed down on the syringe. There was no time for all that bullshit. It would find its way into his bloodstream one way or another.

Until then, her hands discarded the syringe and came up to cup his face, her thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. She realized at that moment his hat was missing and she knew he would throw a fit after bouncing back if that was gone forever. However, as soon as she glanced around to look for it, she spotted it just a stone’s throw away from them. She would grab it as soon as there was some sign of stability in him; some sign that he was going to live and continue to honor the promise he made her.

His breathing began to grow longer and heavier, deep intakes of air in between each one she would consider normal. Relief flooded over her, allowed the tears to be a mixture of fear and happiness, though she kept some edge about it. His head was only barely above water, but she was here to keep him there until he got some proper help. A stimpak was not all the medical attention he needed. 

There was a sharp inhale and a slight stir as his body twitched, his head jerking to one side in her hands as his forehead crinkled. His eyes became slits, fluttering as they made an attempt to open just enough to see his surroundings. She did not even realize her lungs caught and her entire self had gone still until she was able to relax as soon as she heard his voice.

“Charlotte?” He sounded so distant. Confused. “Are you cryin’?” Okay, now she was laughing. It was short, raspy laughter that only puzzled him more, but soon smoothed out his features once she had leaned down to kiss him. It was a long one, worry plaguing her with the idea that it might be her last to share with him, and it was only when she needed to breathe did she break away. She smiled, sniffling and blinking the remainder of the tears from her eyes, and felt her heart swell when he returned it with that dumb grin he always put on for her.

“Now what'd I do to deserve that, huh?” He asked, his hand weakly coming up to rest on one of her own. “Scare the daylights out of ya? Kick the bucket?” She wanted to shove him or give him a light slap for the comment, not yet knowing what truth it held, but instead she just shook her head.

“Let's get you back to Sanctuary,” she replied. “We can talk after I know you're gonna be a Ghoul of your word.”

*****

Some badly bruised ribs, a minor concussion, and a sprain in her shoulder was the diagnosis she received once they returned home. She was lucky, according to the doctor that had moved into town two weeks ago. If the blast and amount of debris that came from it was exactly as Charlotte described, it could had been a lot worse. Her organs had something or someone to thank for it.

Hancock was in poorer shape, but, thankfully, would make a recovery. He fractured his left arm when he had apparently landed on it, sprained his wrist, there was deep bruising all along his side, and doctor was worried that there was some internal bleeding. Whether or not it was a false alarm or something about being a ghoul fixed it, the next day there was no concern to be held for it. All he needed was some bed rest and to lay off the arm and he would be on his way soon enough.

“So I was dead?” He adjusted the strap on his right shoulder that kept his left arm in the position required for it to heal properly. “Dead dead?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, sighing. Already she was finding it hard to talk about, though she had been forced to retell it a few times before he had come to ask. “The doctor suspects the shockwave from one of the explosions stopped your heart.” She paused a moment. “She says you were lucky it didn't knock me unconscious else…else….”

“Else I wouldn't be here,” he finished for her. She could not tell if it disturbed him or not to know that he could very well be in a grave rather than be sitting on the chair in the living room of her old house. He did not seem phased by it, but he was good about hiding the intensity of his negative feelings. She had found that out early into their relationship.

She nodded and her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap.

“Yeah “ she muttered. There was a stretch of silence that followed. She no longer wished to speak about the subject while he wanted to know more. There was respect for both boundaries on either side. She heard him inhale slowly, audibly wincing when it hurt him and causing her eyes instinctively go back to him.

“Are you okay?” She asked, standing up. “Do you need something for the pain?” His free hand came around to grip his side as he exhaled, doing so carefully as he shook his head.

“I already took somethin’ before we started talkin’,” he replied. “It'll kick in soon.” 

“Was that all?” She did not ask him to hold back on the chems while he recovered. Hell, even she was still popping a few back once she was sure it would not mix into some deadly cocktail with what the doctor gave her for the pain. All she asked was that he cut back just enough that she did not have worry about him laying down for a drug induced nap and not getting back up. He had agreed.

“For now, yeah.”

He looked up at her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncertain as to what to do. They had made their peace, expressed their apologies, and had said their thanks that they did not lose the other two days ago when she has dragged them both into Sanctuary. For some reason, it struck an awkward wedge between them. Like they were trying to cope with the lingering feelings from the events that put them in their current situation. She grew suspicious when the grin she was so familiar with pulled at his lips.

“What?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess what happened that night we camped won't be somethin’ we'll be doin’ again anytime soon,” he said. She scoffed. He knew better than to try and fluster her with that sort of stuff. It never worked. She stuck up her chin and put a hand on her hip.

“Your have your other hand,” she replied rather confidently, causing him to laugh. She was barely able to hold her position for longer than a second before she broke down into giggles too, walking over to him when he waved her over. Sitting in the arm of the chair, she leaned down just enough to give him a small peck before pressing her forehead against his own. Her hand found his good one and the comforting feeling of his thumb over her knuckles produced a warmth in her chest.

To think that there was some alternative universe where she had lost him? Where she lost what he made her feel, what he would do for her, and what he was willing to do? There was not a pain medication strong enough to dull what that would put her through.

“I love you,” she said softly. There was a unique pleasure that spread into her bones when he matched her tone:

“I love you, too.”


End file.
